


Dribbling In His Back Court

by unquietspirit



Category: Pundit & Broadcast Journalist RPF (US), Real News RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-28
Updated: 2011-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-17 05:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unquietspirit/pseuds/unquietspirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith's birthday and a basketball game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dribbling In His Back Court

**Author's Note:**

> The title doesn't fit what the story turned into at all, but I can explain it. Really. This is how it went down on Twitter:  
> Me-- "Fic idea: Andy bitches about Keith dragging him to a basketball game, and then they go home and have sexytimes. y/y?"  
> Friend-- "Andy does seem like he'd want Keith to dribble in his back court."  
> Me-- ".... that is too horrible not to use in some way."  
> Therefore, blame my friend... although he's not even involved in this fandom, so good luck finding him.

"I can't believe you're making me miss work for this."

"Oh, shut up and enjoy it, you ingrate. It's my birthday present."

"To yourself."

"Well, I knew _you_ wouldn't get me Knicks tickets."

Anderson winces guiltily because no, he wouldn't.

It isn't that he doesn't care; he's just really unimaginative at gift-giving. He gave Keith the same thing this year as last year and the year before that: a book about baseball. Keith had unwrapped it earlier and said, "I don't think I have this one yet," which made Anderson roll his eyes because he wasn't stupid enough not to _check_ their bookshelves before he bought the damn thing.

He shifts down further in the uncomfortable stadium seat and tugs on the bill of the baseball cap he wore to reduce the chances of getting recognized. Normally they don't care much about being seen together, but this would look bad if it got back to MSNBC, and possibly lead to a lawsuit for breach of the separation contract.

The thought reminds Anderson that he should try to be less bitchy towards his recently-unemployed boyfriend, at least for tonight. Honestly, and he knows how horrible this sounds, it keeps slipping his mind. He was supportive the first night, going so far as to dedicate the opening twenty minutes of his show to it. Keith responded by texting him during the commercial break.

_Seriously?!  I am not a lead story. And could your 'breaking news' graphic be any more annoying?_

_what do you want me to do then?_

_Do your damn job and let me worry about mine._

He talked about it again during the next show, but only for a few minutes in the second half. Keith hadn't commented, textually or otherwise.

They fell into their new routine surprisingly easily. Instead of leaving for work together, Anderson goes on his own and Keith gets up later to do whatever it is he does during the day now. Anderson only knows as much as he can glean from following him on Twitter, under a fake account that Keith's unaware of. He doesn't ask for more details because whatever Keith's doing, it seems to be working. In fact, he seems almost relieved at the loss of his job. He's certainly sleeping better.

The only time Anderson broached the subject of the future, on the second day, Keith just said, "It isn't the first time I've had to start over, Andy," and it was the use of the nickname usually reserved for sex and its afterglow that reassured him they'll be fine.

" _And_ erson? Hello?"

He jerks away from the sudden loudness of the voice in his ear and turns to look at Keith. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you wanted nachos."

"Oh, no thanks. And you really shouldn't be having them either, you know. They're bad for your heart. Are they even gluten-free?"

"I'm sure both my heart and my digestive tract will be able to handle it," Keith replies, and heads off to the concession stand before Anderson can say anything else. He sighs and pulls out his Blackberry to check the news.

Trying to be interested in very tall men running around with an orange ball is harder that it should be, though he gives it his best. Keith has to keep moving his nachos off his lap so he can stand up and shout with the other fans, and eventually he puts them on Anderson's knee and leaves them there, occasionally brushing his hand against Anderson's leg when he reaches over for more.

It's just enough to keep Anderson from retreating too much into his own head, which he's grateful for. Neither of them acknowledge it, but they share a mutual awareness that the insistence he skip work for a basketball game, the bickering, and the hand-brushes are all about the same thing: distracting him from the other birthday he should be celebrating today. Carter would've been 46.

The Knicks win, which makes Keith happy. He takes a picture of one of the other team's players and tweets it with a scathing caption while they wait for the seats around them to clear out enough for them to leave. At home he finishes brushing his teeth first, and by the time Anderson walks into the bedroom he's sitting up against the headboard, reading his new book.

"Thought you'd read it already?"

"Years ago," Keith replies, not looking up. "I'm refreshing my memory."

Anderson strips off his jeans and t-shirt and stretches out on his side next to Keith's legs, using one hand to prop his head up and idly running the other one over the other man's shin. "Good choice, then?"

"Mmm-hmm."

He shifts closer, focuses on the texture of Keith's leg as he rubs his palm over it. A moment later he hears the book close, and fingers tangle into the short hair at the nape of his neck, tugging.

"Get up here, Andy."


End file.
